


I Can Give You the Light

by lousy_science



Series: The Does What it Says on the Tin series [5]
Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: London, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 11:23:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12107670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lousy_science/pseuds/lousy_science
Summary: Hotel room smut.





	I Can Give You the Light

The first shock Collins got was on Old Compton Street, when he couldn’t help but stare at the vision walking towards them. Farrier had guided him down the knotty roads of Soho, the parts of London Collins had dreamed about but never seen in any of his safe family trips to the capital, and now he was feeling, if not lost, like an adventurer in unmapped territory.

While Collins had been brought up not to stare, he couldn’t take his eyes off the person strolling in front of them, from the girlish sandals to the velvet suit to the wild plume of bright red hair. As Farrier moved aside to make room on the narrow pavement, Collins caught him smiling and nodding at this creature, who was clearly wearing women’s makeup and jewellery, who nodded back as imperiously as a high commander and swept past them.

As soon as they were out of earshot, he grabbed Farrier’s sleeve and asked, “Who - _what_ \- was that?”

“Oh, that’s just Quentin. Some of the other lads don’t like to see her around, but she’s not doing any harm.”

“But it’s, well,” Collins wasn’t sure what to think. “What if it’s just an act to get out of the service?”

Farrier’s brow creased. “No. No act. Quentin’s been like that for years. And she tried to enlist, even without the purple hair. But they wouldn’t have her.”

He laid a hand on Collins’s back, directing him down a dark alleyway, saying, “Given some of the screaming queens they signed up, it seemed unfair to me. Though I’m sure Quentin is supporting the troops in her own way.”

Collins smiled back, beginning to feel the darkness of the city wrap around him like velvet.

 

The next shock he got was at the bar when he heard the price of two gin and tonics. He almost spluttered, “Are you quite serious?”, which would’ve sounded too much like his father, so instead slid his hand back into his wallet and tried to look happy about it.

There was the sound of laughter next to him, and someone curled closer. “They charge like wounded bulls here, don’t they?”

Collins looked up as a hand with a cigarette poised between two fingers rested lightly on his sleeve. “It’s London, I suppose.” He tried to keep his Scottish accent from coming through too much.

“Mmm. First time?”

First time in London, Collins wondered, or first time in this basement bar, with the jazz band in the corner and the red drapes and chandeliers, and with all the men laughing and drinking, and even dancing, together. “First time here.”

As he said it, he almost choked, recognising who he was talking to.

Two eyebrows lifted up at him, and the familiar face bent to the side. “With a friend?”

Collins lifted a glass in the direction of Farrier, who was sitting at one of the chrome tables.

“Oh, _him_. Haven’t seen him in a while. You a flier too?”

“Yes. Spitfires, from a base in Surrey.” Collins didn’t know why he was talking about Surrey, but he was busy trying to follow the information being passed from the bar to the table, where Farrier was nodding back in acknowledgement, but not smiling this time.

“Well, I’ll feel safer, knowing I have you two,” the hand with the smoke lifted in an arc, “hovering above me.”

Collins felt dazed as he carried their drinks over. Stumbling into his chair, he plonked down the glasses and leant forward, “That was only Ivor Novello at the bar!”

“Mmm,” Farrier lifted his gin to his lips, while his other arm stretched around Collins’s chair back. His eyes flickered between Collins and the movie star standing at the bar.

“My mum will be over the moon when I tell her I saw him. She’s got all his sheet music, sends away for them. Bet she’ll ask me why I didn’t get his autograph, but I guess I won’t be able to provide the details.”

A hand curled around his neck. Farrier looked at him hard, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “You could have more than his autograph.”

“I - no, you’re joking,” Collins glanced up at one of the mirrors on the wall, and he could see the famous eyes reflected back, lingering over the two of them. “Me? Or,” he clinked his glass against Farrier’s, “you?”

“Not me. Not tonight.” Farrier looked thoughtful. “You like it here?”

“It’s great. Thanks for bringing me. I wouldn’t have known there are places like this around - I wondered, sometimes, but I never knew for sure. Drinks are pricey, mind you. I suppose all this,” he waved his drink around, indicating the glitz of the decor and the gentle strumming of the band, “isn’t cheap.”

Then Farrier smiled, big and wide and just for him. Collins almost forgot about Ivor Novello, and how he’d have to keep a straight face the next time his mother played the family one of his love songs.

 

 

Hours later, they bounded into the hotel, the night clerk looking annoyed so Collins raised one finger to his lips as they stumbled past to chase each other up the stairs. Breathless at the fifth floor, Collins nearly doubled over with laughter outside their door, as Farrier imitated the scorned look that had been shot at them across the lobby, then waggled the keys on his fingers. Collins clutched at his arm, wanting to be inside, where they had the biggest room he’d ever stayed in - a treat from Farrier, who’d done all the booking, brushing off all help with a wink. As the lock tumblers turned over, he glanced along the dim hallway, wondering what was happening behind the other doors, and whether they’d be as jealous as the clerk was of the two of them. Then the door gave way and he was pulled inside and pressed up against a wall, and the rest of the hotel might as well have not existed.

Farrier pulled his mouth off of his and slowly rubbed their noses together, looking for the first time ever as if all the drinks had affected him.

Collins was buoyant, wanting to hold on forever but also flooded with energy, wanting to move, feeling like he could run for miles, light as a feather. He wanted Farrier out of that coat but also wanted him to pull it around the two of them and keep them enclosed forever. He’d never felt like he could wear an aviator jacket, not feeling like he could measure up to the smart Americans he saw in film reels as a teen, or the experienced pilots like Farrier he’d met in the service. But now, as he nipped at Farrier’s jaw, slowing him down as he locked the door - and why bother, who cared about the outside world? - he felt as much a part of everything in Farrier’s world as Farrier himself.

They hadn’t put on the light, so Collins tripped over one of his own shopping parcels on the way to the bed, Farrier telling him to watch himself, “Don’t break your neck, what would I tell your Ma?”

He just laughed, scooping up the clothes he’d gotten that afternoon on Jermyn Street, as Farrier had waited patiently for him to look over every cut and style, and tenderly stroke the tweeds and leathers. The tailors there seemed to understand him, nodding and measuring, giving knowing looks between them, but Collins was too excited to worry. The presence of his new brogues, still bundled up, which he placed on the dresser as he began to pull at his necktie, made the hotel room feel even more like a castle top, a space as precious and entirely theirs as the sky.

The lights got switched on, the big one overhead as well as the lamp, and Farrier fell back on the bed to watch Collins take his clothes off. So he took his time, feeling the light on his skin, carefully folding his trousers and hanging up his jacket in the wardrobe. By the time he’d turned back, Farrier was nude, his clothes thrown towards a chair in corner, and Collins tutted and went to place them nicely.

“So fussy,” came the voice from the bed.

Slipping out of his shorts, Collins resisted cupping his hands around his cock and balls, like they did at school before showers. “You’ll thank me in the morning,”

“I will if you get your arse over here.”

For that, he took his time, swanning around the room pretending to admire the furnishings, really taking in the sight of Farrier, golden below the heavy blackout curtains, his arms folded behind him as his slightly bowed legs splayed out over the covers. Collins didn’t know if he’d ever see all this again, and he felt himself grow harder with the exhilaration of anticipation.

Bounding on to the bed he flopped down next to him, their bodies meeting at hip and shoulder. Farrier made one of his thoughtful murmurs, his hand on Collins’s belly, as Collins kissed and nibbled at his shoulder. It was his turn to be examined now, and he felt the blood throb hard in his knob as Farrier’s hand glanced over it, busier lining out the edges of his hip bones, rib cage, the chest that Collins had always worried was too narrow. But not tonight, where every part of his body felt valued. Looking over himself, he saw that he was pink and flushed, paler than Farrier, who seemed to have soaked in the sun deep into his skin, like his tattoos and the wooden firmness of his muscles.

It didn’t seem to matter, now, that he was skinnier, and blond, and used to get black eyes on the playground from boys who’d had their growth spurt before him. That neither the cold halls of his school or the small brick box of his parent’s house had ever felt like places where he’d belonged. Always forced to wear his brother’s hand-me-downs to save money, to have his offers of friendships rebuffed because his background wasn’t right or he was too eager, too invested in getting close to someone else that he’d get shoved away. All the things he’d wanted, from the brogues, to the wings on his uniform sleeve, to the man next to him, he’d been able to get, after so many years of waiting.

Looping their arms around each other they kissed, messy lips meeting and legs tangling, the fuzz of Farrier’s chest hair tickling him, and finally that kick of energy inside got let out as they rolled around the mattress. Their hard-ons were firm against their bellies and Collins groaned into the mouth he was licking into.

With Farrier pressing him down into the bed with all his weight draped over him, Collins let his legs fall open, waiting for the hand on his inner thigh to lift him wide. He was ready, could feel a hot ball of expectation at the base of his spine, wanted to feel Farrier deep in his guts. But Farrier was lifting up, kissing his eyebrows, his forehead, smiling down at him, and rolling over.

He pushed around, lying back making space of his own on the mattress, and Collins was about to ask why - then he suddenly got it, the openness and want on the other man’s face, the relaxed line of his body, the leg kneeling up to frame his cock, red and crooked up, and the invitation in the pose. Down to the core of him, between those legs, the tight curve under his bollocks, and Collins didn’t think to follow his eyes with his hand until Farrier moved it down there himself.

“C’mon, lad,” Farrier said quietly, then moved over to kiss him. “You want to?”

He did, he had wondered, of course, but he’d never thought to ask, never wanting anything more than what Farrier gave him. The tin of vaseline appeared, and Farrier arched up and put a pillow under his hips. Collins blurted out, “How long since you - ?”

Farrier laughed softly. “Been a while. Since I wanted to.”

“You do want to, don’t you?”

“Don’t look so worried, pet. It’s fun, isn’t it?”

Collins felt like he should be doing a hundred things at once, kneeling between Farrier’s legs, holding the tin in one hand while the other grasped at a meaty thigh. But he was still until Farrier pushed himself up and gave him a cuddle, kissing his neck in the way that always made him frantic, bit his earlobe and let Collins stroke at his hair.

He laid Farrier back down and kissed him once more, for luck, then slicked up his finger and, with one hand steadying himself on the bed, reached towards his cleft. The bridge of skin behind his balls was soft under the pad of his thumb, and Farrier gave a pleasing shiver as a fingertip circled his entrance. Collins was overheated, his skin tight, so turned on he struggled to focus, but he remembered how careful Farrier had been with him the first time.

Pushing in and out, he marveled at the feeling of being clasped in someone’s body. He watched the rise of Farrier’s breath, the roll of his head side to side, and pressed his fingers deeper. It wasn’t like doing it to himself, but it wasn’t so very different, either, and he imagined the same pleasure he had felt radiating from Farrier’s core to his limbs.

Farrier’s hips hitched under him, rocking open, and a hand grabbed his shoulder. “S’good. Now, now, I’m ready,”

Collins wasn’t entirely sure he was ready, but he ran his hands up the back of Farrier’s furry thighs to bring his knees wide and resettled himself. Momentarily unsure of how to keep himself upright, he tottered as he leaned forward and Farrier had to hold him up by the shoulders.

“Sorry, sorry,” he was fumbling, not sure how to aim, where to put his body.

“Hey there. Look at me.”

He did. Farrier wasn’t laughing at him, he looked almost sombre, and Collins felt awe pour through him as if he was back in a pew at church, seeing the immense stained glass windows fill with light.

“We’ll do it together, hmm?”

Collins nodded in agreement. He got a hand in place next to Farrier’s hip, and another on the firm swell of his arse, and managed to focus long enough to press his cock in. He could see enough to make out where their bodies joined. It took his breath away, and he slipped out, losing the line of his direction for a second before reconnecting.

This time he thrust his hips with real power behind them. Farrier moaned deep in his chest, a sound Collins could feel as well as hear, and he picked up the pace. He was making noises himself, and he could feel the sweat beading on his upper lip, but he was more concerned with how Farrier looked sprawled beneath him.

As he moved faster, getting the hang of almost but not quite withdrawing, and feeling a primitive rhythm propel his body, he wanted to laugh as he realised his body knew exactly what to do, he just had to stop thinking so hard.

Farrier’s hand tugged at his erection with the same pace that Collins was moving, that gorgeous face slack with pleasure, a plump lip bitten, his neck muscles taut. The ink of his tattoos seemed get extra dark, shimmering over his skin.

Collins wanted to be closer, somehow, but risked losing his balance if he leaned forward anymore, so he zeroed in on the sight of Farrier’s splendid prick in those thick, beloved fingers. Watching as his balls drew up and feeling the pressure before Farrier’s release clamp down around Collins’s own hard cock, he saw the glistening strands of come streak over Farrier’s belly. That was me, he thought dumbly, I made him do that.

Underneath him, Farrier’s body slackened, a different feeling that Collins filed away with all the other parts of the night he never wanted to forget. He was close himself, and breathing in raw huffs, Farrier’s hand now back on his shoulder, encouraging him onwards.

The tell-tale tension in his scrotum rippled up and down his thighs, and Collins nearly collapsed as his orgasm shot through him. His face was in Farrier’s hands, and he lapped at the heel of his palm. Pulling out, soft and sensitive, he winced at the overload of his nerves.

Farrier was pulling the pillow out, rolling the case off it with a grimace, and using it to clean up. The pillow landed on the other side of the room with a soft puff as Collins stretched out with a yawn.

“Your hair is a right state, mate.”

Collins lifted his hand to his scalp to confirm. Farrier was right - it was sticking up at all angles. He let it be pushed back, and they lifted up far enough to get the bedclothes down. Realising the lights were still on, Collins got up to turn it off.

“Wish you’d leave it,”

“Against regulations, you know that.” He padded over to the switch, turning back to look at Farrier holding back the blankets for him.

“In the morning, I’m opening those curtains up, getting some real light in this room.”

Collins made a little run-up to the bed and leaped back in, landing on his side. He was drowsy and content, but still greedy for touch. Farrier let him wrap an arm around him and lay his head down on his chest. “Did I say thank you?”

“For what?” Farrier’s voice was just above a whisper, his hand stroking over the back of Collins’s head.

Caught by a yawn, Collins didn’t answer at first. “Everything. The room, the night out, the clubs. Everything.”

“It’s all yours, lad. Get some kip.”

“Mm,” Collins thought there might be something else to say, but his muscles were heavy with fatigue, and he was yawning again. He curled tighter around Farrier’s body and fell asleep, forgetting that the lamp was still on behind him. Five floors below their bed, the streets of London were dark, hours away from the return of the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> Title half-borrowed from Ivor Novello's I Can Give You the Starlight; Quentin is, of course, Quentin Crisp. Some of the details of wartime London inspired by Stephen Bourne's Fighting Proud: The Untold Story of the Gay Men Who Served in Two World Wars and Matthew Sweet's The West End Front (where I learned that the gay club under the Ritz was known as The Pink Sink).


End file.
